Furta est in Vultus

Mortals make me laugh. Have I ever told you that? Well, I’m telling you now. I knew this one elf, really strange fellow, he wasn’t normal by any stretch. He liked the mountains. Now, you’re probably thinking I’m getting my elves and dwarves confused, but no, I most definitely am talking about an elf here.

Anyway, this elf fellow, went by the name of Kelinor D’tarik, he left his ancestor’s homeland, or rather, got kicked out by some circumstances which very few truly know of, I being one of them, but I’ll not bore you with the details. Anyway, so this Kelinor, he went traipsing throughout the country, and eventually came to the mountains. Drawn to them by an indescribable fascination, he began to wander about the mountain realm, and found, to his surprise, that this was the kingdom of the dwarves. Now, he managed to convince himself that he was surprised just because he’d forgotten this was where the dwarves lived (this Kelinor had been living for some three hundred years by now), but the real reason was because, somewhere deep in his mind, he had always had a fascination with the dwarven way of life, and so, perhaps unconsciously, wandered into their realm.

Well, seeing as how they were dwarves, and Kelinor an elf, they didn’t take too well of a reception to him at first, them being dwarves and Kelinor being an elf. Kelinor was slightly put out by this, but due to his stubborn nature (one of the reasons he was kicked out of his homeland), he wouldn’t let this get him down. Now, I should also say that this stubbornness was one of the reasons the dwarves eventually accepted him, for stubbornness is a very valued trait among most dwarven societies.

But I get ahead of myself. So, continuing with the story, there was Kelinor, outside the mountain home, and here were the dwarves inside the mountain home.

“What do ye make o’ this elf, lads?”

Now, this was at a council meeting that all of the heads of dwarven society attended. Presently speaking was the king of the dwarves, Obrik Hammerwind. If you ask me, the dwarves certainly give themselves such ridiculous names.

“Don’t trust him,” said a particularly stubborn dwarf named Jener Anvilthunk, a stubbornness that in an ordinary society would have been said to border on xenophobia, but dwarves are only ever afraid of poor ore and sometimes spiders. So xenophobia it wasn’t.

“Well, he does like the mountains. And he is stubborn,” another dwarf toward the back by name of Giger Axewarbler piped in.

“That’s why we shouldn’t trust him! Not normal,” Jener returned.

“Jener, you wouldn’t trust him if he was normal,” the dwarf next to Jener, Dort Brickbuster, groaned.

Jener sniffed in indignation. “Well, you can trust the normal ones not to be trustworthy, and the different ones, you can’t trust them not to be trustworthy, but neither can you trust them to hold any trust at all in them, so you of course cannot trust them.”

The council chamber was silent for a few moments, bathing in the wisdom of Jener’s remark, but soon the clatter resumed its normal flow as everyone began talking at once again.

“Now, now, hold on, lads!” Obrik slammed his fists on the table a few times to command the attention. “We need to decide what to do about this fellow. What do ye say about testing him?”

The general rumble in the room seemed to be in agreement to the king’s suggestion, so the king nodded and walked out of the room, ideas already swirling inside his head.

Now the king was mostly a calm minded individual, and so he decided to give this elf fellow Kelinor a fair test, but meanwhile, the others back in the council chamber began arguing again on the best kind of test to be given to him. Jener suggested sticking him in the forge to see if he could make weapons with the best of the dwarven smiths (which, being an elf, he of course could not make a dwarven weapon), Giger suggested giving him a score of goblins to kill, and see how fast he could do it, and Dort suggested seeing how much ale he could drink.

None of these ideas were presently in the king’s head. No, the test that the king had in mind was a special one. There was this one particular spider (now remember dwarves hate spiders) that lived in a forest at the base of the mountain kingdom. This particular spider, which the dwarves called Nansor, occasionally rampaged among the dwarven clan members in the mountains, and attacked the dwarves who often ventured outside the mountain realm. And so what Obrik had in mind was for this elf fellow Kelinor to go and slay this spider fellow Nansor.

Obrik made his way to tell Kelinor of this quest, and Kelinor accepted this stoically (another thing that made Obrik respect him more), not revealing whether or not he would take the quest, decline the quest, or even how he felt being given this quest to test him at all (it might be good to add that Kelinor was secretly thrilled about this). When Kelinor eventually walked away, Obrik had a feeling that this strange elf fellow had accepted.

And indeed, Kelinor D’tarik accepted. None of the dwarves truly understood why, and Kelinor was not completely sure of the reason himself, but I know it to be from a natural propensity towards fighting (this the dwarves never knew about, but another fact that would have drawn more respect).

So Kelinor entered this forest which reminded him heavily of his homeland. The poor elf, still bruising from his recent exile, walked with a heavy heart through that wood, only half paying attention to his surroundings. It was not, obviously, the same forest of his ancestors, but it reminded him of it all the same.

“Blind fools,” Kelinor muttered to himself, “couldn’t learn to appreciate anything different.”

The elf ducked under a low hanging branch, angrily shooting glances to the shadows as if they contained harbingers of his past. Might I add that those shadows were reflected under the haunted elf’s eyes.

“Can’t even take a joke, humorless idiots. Honestly, what did I ever do to them?” Kelinor snorted. “Probably just jealous because I know the meaning of the word ‘joke.’ Even their wisest sages wouldn’t know that.”

However, just to make it clear, this was not the true reason for Kelinor’s banishment, merely what he thought to be the true reason. Of course, the poor, exiled elf did not realize his folly (an ability to blind himself from the facts, which, I will say, was also one of the reasons for his banishment).

Well, continuing with the story, so absorbed was Kelinor in his thoughts that an earth elemental could have popped right out of the ground in front of him and he would have walked right into it. And so it did not surprise me at all, and neither should it you, that all of a sudden Kelinor just stopped walking. Realization dawned on Kelinor when he no longer had the capacity to move his own limbs, and when he finally looked in front of him, his two elven eyes met eight arachnid ones.



Meanwhile, back in the dwarven compound, the dwarves of the council still argued on what the best kind of test to put this Kelinor D’tarik to was. Jener Anvilthunk had moved from sticking the elf into the forge to sticking into the forge fires—after all, if this one was so different from his kin, then he should be able to withstand such intense heat, right? Giger Axewarbler still stuck with his timed test of killing the score of goblins, and Dort Brickbuster had long since drunk himself to quite a snooze.

The king entered the room some time later, and instantly the council quieted, eager to hear what test Obrik Hammerwind had put forth to this strange elf.

The king, thinking in his head that he did not need this right now (and of course, all the other dwarves were thinking quite the opposite), sighed and began explaining, “Kelinor D’tarik accepted the quest to slay the spider Nansor in the forest at the foot o’ the mountains.”

The dwarves looked around for a few moments, some not sure if they should cheer or not, but eventually clapping resounded throughout the council chamber, if for no other reason than because it was the king’s decision.

Obrik took his seat at the head of the table and said nothing more. Many thoughts were going his head at this moment: whether or not the quest had been too harsh, how best to quiet his restless council, if Kelinor would survive, what Nansor’s death would mean for his kingdom, and so on.

None of these thoughts were shared by anyone on the council. Jener Anvilthink was thinking about the best way to ensure that no strangers (including spiders) could ever enter the dwarven kingdom, Giger Axewarbler was thinking of ways to best invite more strangers (not including spiders) to enter the dwarven kingdom, and Dort Brickbuster was merely entertaining alcohol-induced dreams.

Kelinor entered the room, and the dwarves immediately hushed. The elf did not say anything, just looked at each and every dwarf, the sword and dagger in his hands not even bloodied. The dwarves stared back for a few seconds, and then suddenly, all at once, burst into the same motion.

They began debating again.

Only the flabbergasted king was silent—Kelinor shouldn’t, no, couldn’t, have returned so swiftly! Debates were thrown across the room, some arguing to slay him on the spot (most of those coming from Jener), some arguing to find out what they should ask him (most of those coming from Giger), and still others wanted to give him a drink (most of these would have been coming from Dort, had he not still been snoozing).

Finally, Jener Anvilthunk decided to take matters into his own hands. He strode confidently up the elf, his hammer in a threatening position placed across both hands, and eyed Kelinor up and down before giving a roar and suddenly launching his hammer at the elf.

It thunked into Kelinor’s chest. That was the exact sound it made, I jest you not, as if the hammer had just struck something as hard as solid steel.

Which, in a manner, it did. Kelinor’s bland face turned into a smile, and suddenly his body began to grow, his limbs getting larger and the nails elongating. Soon his chest grew so big that the clothes covering his torso tore open, revealing green scales. The smile on Kelinor’s face became a sharp-toothed grin, and the metamorphosing elf stepped further into the chamber to allow his growing body the room it needed.

Jener just stumbled backwards, eyes goggling and his hammer forgotten. Talons now larger than a dwarf’s head crashed down on the council chamber’s large table, and green wings spread to the width of the room. Slitted golden eyes gazed down directly at the king. The massive green tail swung viciously around the room, sending dwarves crashing into the walls, skulls or other bones completely crushed.

“I tried to warn you, but none of you would listen to me,” the dragon rumbled, but the king could not respond, so frozen with fear was he. I guess that means that the only things dwarves are scared of would be poor ore, spiders, and dragons.

“What’s the matter, don’t you recognize me?” A weird sound erupted from the dragon’s maw, and he turned his head to the side and some fire came out, spilling over more than a few dwarves. At the back of Obrik’s head, he thought that was what might have passed for dragon’s laughter.

“You insignificant dwarves had taken to calling me Nansor. I only took that form in an attempt to scare you away without needless slaughter, but apparently that didn’t work. And now you resort to sending an elf to destroy me because you’re too cowardly to do it yourselves! Despicable mortals!”

At that, Obrik Hammerwind’s eyes grew wider than even I thought possible. So I suppose that means that dwarves are only truly scared of poor ore, spiders, dragons, and dragons that can turn into spiders.

The dragon formerly named Nansor the spider continued to thrash every dwarf in the room, saving the king for last. And finally the dragon began changing shape again, right in front of Obrik’s eyes, the mighty dwarven king still frozen with fear.

“So, Obrik, here’s a riddle for you,” the dragon turned its large luminous orbs toward the king, “how does a fifty foot dragon escape from an enemy underground lair that is twenty feet wide at its largest point?”

Obrik’s muscles, tensed with so much fear, suddenly loosened and his body fell slump in the chair, his eyes still on the changing dragon, for what he saw before him was no longer a dragon, but a perfect copy of himself, and the last thing that Obrik Hammerwind saw was an axe aimed right between his eyes, and the last thing the dwarven king heard was, “Well, if you can’t beat them, become them!”



So what happened to Kelinor D’tarik, you may ask? Well, poor Kelinor stumbled into the webbing of “Nansor,” but, as you can imagine, what he saw before him was no mere spider. The eight arachnid eyes soon merged into two draconic ones, and soon a gigantic green dragon sat curled comfortably before the elf. Like the dwarven king, no words came out of Kelinor’s mouth, but unlike the dwarven king, this was because the elf’s mouth was shut rather tight, the only hints of fear on his face the awkward frown and the odd glint in his eyes.

“Kelinor D’tarik,” the dragon began, and the elf imagined every leaf in the forest shaking under the weight of that booming voice, “You have trespassed upon my domain. There is but one punishment for trespassing in my home—death. But I have a special death for you, haughty elf. You will die painfully and slowly.”

The dragon narrowed his slitted eyes and leaned closer to Kelinor so that the elf could smell the acrid stench of the beast’s breath. His eyes widened with the dragon’s proximity and promise of doom, but even if the elf had tried, no sound would have come out of his mouth.

“Scared, little elf? Well you should be; you know, I can concentrate my gouts of flame so that you burn one limb at a time. So how does a slow, painful, and fiery death appeal to you?”

You know, I didn’t think it was possible, but Kelinor’s eyes widened even more. The web around him tightened slightly, as if he was trying to imperceptibly escape the trap. The dragon leaned back suddenly, throwing his head skyward, and gouts of flame erupted from its maw in the gesture of dragon laughter.

“Kelinor D’tarik,” the dragon rumbled, “I have no intention of killing you. In fact, I have taken a great interest in you. You have been exiled from your homeland, and now you seek refuge with the dwarves. Very interesting, because I also seek refuge, save it’s from the dwarves and not with them.”

The dragon let his words sink into the immobile Kelinor, and the elf’s mouth calmly shut and his eyes became slightly narrower in suspicion as he began to think about his situation.

“So I propose a deal to you, Kelinor D’tarik,” the dragon continued, “that will benefit both of us. You seem a troubled soul, Kelinor D’tarik, so I propose this in exchange for your freedom—in other words, I shall spare you your slow, painful, fiery death if you agree to the terms. You will never again return to the kingdom of the dwarves; become a wandering nomad for all I care. But never will you even think about setting foot in the mountains again, as long as you may live. And I heard you talking to yourself earlier—you say you know the meaning of the word of the word ‘joke’? Well, mortal, I don’t think you know all that you think you do. Promise service to my master, Terjark the God of Jest, and you will find the life you seek.”

Kelinor apparently seemed rather surprised at this (though of course the stoic elf said nothing), for the dragon spurted more of his flame-laughter and responded, “You don’t think me a proper servant of the God of Jest? You mortals understand nothing. Terjark acknowledges all jests and jokes—it doesn’t matter to him if they are deadly or not. What do you say to my proposal?”

Kelinor, not having much of a choice, reluctantly nodded his head as much as the tight webs would allow, and with a word of magick, the dragon dispelled the strands immobilizing the poor elf. Kelinor did not take long in leaving that forest, wanting to put much distance between himself and my dragon pupil as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, the dragon watched him go for a bit, then started to make his way towards the dwarven fortress, changing into Kelinor’s shape as he went, and, well, you know the story from there.

As for Kelinor, he never again went near a mountain range, though his heart longed to discover the secrets of stone. But he remembered well the dragon’s words, and though he knew that not every mountain realm could be deadly to him, he always kept that fear with him. And so the poor elf became a vagabond, entertaining peoples from every corner of his world with jest and joke, though every time he saw a dwarf, Kelinor D’tarik would cringe, if for nothing else than because he couldn’t imagine what “joke” befell those dwarves. And he always wondered, from that fateful day forth, if any one of these mortals held deceit in their appearance, to play the final jest on him.

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